Grace in Teaspoons

When I saw this wall decor on clearance for $3.99 at Hobby Lobby in Rapid City several weeks ago, I purchased it to hang in our kitchen. 

It was a quote by one of my favorite authors, Amy Carmichael.

"Thank God, He does not measure grace out in teaspoons." 

Nor, I could add, does He measure it out in mere cupfuls or even bucketfuls.

He has oceans of it at our disposal. 

I felt some of that grace tonight--right when Satan was trying to mess with my mind and my peace.

Instead, something beautiful happened--sacredly private--shockingly beautiful. 

It should have been the opposite.

Instead, what Satan meant for evil, God turned for good.

Buckets of grace when Satan wanted to douse my joy and peace. 

Now after a busy day of helping Ned and Judy Sherman butcher pigs, I thought for sure I could go to sleep right away like I did last night--dropping asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow, too tired to hardly move.

Not so tonight, despite all the hard work of the day.  

My feet were hot again, I guess from chemo neuropathy. Usually my feet are cold. But they were hot, and I ended up wide awake. 

I came out to read an article that came in the mail a day or two ago, "The Antidote to a Downcast Heart," by Gary Wilkerson, son of Dave Wilkerson who wrote The Cross and the Switchblade.  

Here is a link to the same article online: https://www.worldchallenge.org/newsletter/2024/antidote-downcast-heart

And here is a little song that a friend shared with us on Facebook

"So I hit my knees 'cause I've seen all heaven move.

I pray, "Father, please" 'cause I've seen what He can do.

These hands have no power.

But there ain't an hour He don't come through.

That's why when mountains move, I say

"Looks like somebody prayed."

I've seen miracles come from feeble words.

I've seen hospital rooms turned into cathedrals.

I've seen freedom come to the prisoner.

You can't tell me that prayer don't work.

So every night there by your bed.

When you fold your hands and bow your head.

Not a single word you've ever said

 in vain.

'Cause He hears everything."

"When you walk through the fire [of neuropathy, grief, loss, loneliness, cancer, injustice, false accusations, stress of whatever kind] you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you...

Since you were precious in my sight, you have been honored, and I have loved you...

Fear not, for I am with you."

Isaiah 43:2-5

Three Good Young Men--and Jeremiah Smith Was One

In the last few years, our family has been acquainted with three unusually dedicated young men who passionately loved Jesus whom God took to Himself in water accidents. The first one was Austin Weaver, a fellow violin student of our daughter Carrie. She and he and others would play together in violin recitals--until, at the young age of about 24, he was in an accident in a swimming pool a few years ago. Every one who knew him knew that his first love was Jesus, and his second love was children, and his third love must have been swimming! He was an ardent swimmer. He died doing what he loved most.

And I stopped over and over at his grave site in Black Forest to walk and pray beside his grave marker, remembering a young man with a passion for God and praying for my boys--and myself and all of us--to have that same passion.

Then there was Isaiah Rodriguez--the promising young student at Penn View Bible Institute who was part of a PR group that included our friend Katie Saylor. Those who knew him felt he was one of the most passionate young men that they knew--and all for Jesus. He also was passionate about swimming--and died doing what he loved most!

Today as I crossed the bridge over Bad River on my way to my lymphatic treatment, I thought about a third young man--Jeremiah Smith, son of fellow SIM missionaries Dan and LaDawn Smith, who just lost his life yesterday in a kayak accident on a river in Pennsylvania.

How grateful we were to hear the good testimony he had left behind! The very morning of the accident, Jeremiah had told his boss on the way to work that he was right with God and "ready to go."

He was just 20 years old. 

I don't know why God took these three young men, all in a similar fashion. It leaves one pondering a great deal.

  Perhaps God loved the passionate way the three were serving Him--the single focus, the life hard after God, the love of Jesus burning brightly along with a love for people. And this is just my personal thought--God may have loved their passion for fun--the way the boys loved to swim or boat or kayak or do whatever they did with 100% involvement. 

They didn't just serve God--they had fun doing it!

I passed these goats today on my way to visit friends who were grieving over the tragedy, and I noticed that the goats weren't just eating hay. They were climbing the haystack! They were all in--just like the young men whom God took.

I don't know why God took these young men, but He had His reasons, His purposes and His plans. 

Jeremiah had felt called to become a missionary pilot--something which, when I first heard a couple years ago, I was secretly glad God hadn't called one of my boys to be--at least not yet.

Because I was a little scared of flying, especially in small planes, the kind a missionary pilot would maneuver.

But today, when I heard about Jeremiah's calling all over again, I thought about how he can't fulfill that calling anymore--and I thought about my boys. I have three of them. I don't like the idea of them up in a little airplane. How many plane crashes have we heard about, including the big one just this evening that crashed into a Black Hawk helicopter over the Potomac River? 

 But as I headed out the door of the garage out into the fresh air to leave for my appointment, tears came into my eyes as I told God,
"If you want one of my boys to be a missionary pilot, you can have him."

I did not want to hold back my son out of fear.

 

I do not want to be afraid of a plane crash--only to have something far worse happen. 

These three young men--Austin, Isaiah, and Jeremiah-- loved God passionately--and He took them.

Do I love God as passionately as they?

Two Sparrows Fell--and Robins Sang

  Today two sparrows fell.

The first one fell off its little knick-knack shelf on my dresser when Jonathan was taking a flyswatter into our bedroom to swat flies that appeared on our wall up near the ceiling. He hopped up and down a time or two to reach the flies, I guess, and that is when my favorite porcelain sparrow fell off the shelf.

I could tell by Jonathan's sounds and reaction in the bedroom that he was feeling very bad--without too many dramatics, of course, as guys do, and I went in to survey which knick-knack had fallen.

It had to be my favorite one--the sparrow I had seen and purchased during our tour of Celestial Seasonings near Boulder, CO, several years ago. 

There it was--its whole head broken off in pieces. 

Yeah, I know Jonathan is going to try to glue it together, but it will never be the same.

But then I got an idea. My blog! Yess! I will take a picture of this broken-sparrow-to-be-fixed. Surely there will be something I can get out of this for a blog post.

Yes. The broken sparrow was meant to be!

So I took the picture.

Little did I know that later that morning, another sparrow would fall. As we were finishing fellowship meal after church, a phone call came to Jonathan from Crystal. Our neighbor's bedfast mother had passed away. Could we let Pastor know?

This lady has been bedfast after a stroke for years.

Everything was turned upside down. One native Christian lady began to rejoice. 

"Praise the Lord!" she exclaimed, "I've been praying for that!"

I rejoiced as well, for I've been praying for our friend's suffering to end, too. 

She was now rejoicing with the angels in heaven!

"She thought she was going to go up in the rapture," one of the ladies said. "But she got tired of waiting!"

Pastor and his wife dropped everything, including the rest of Pastor's plate, and they put on coats to go out into the bitter cold to drive to the neighbor just a half mile away. Hannah, who is close friends with our neighbor, wanted to go, too, and so Danny took her.

 Jonathan and I joined the group as quickly as possible gathering. The sheriff and coroner left as we arrived. Together the pastor and his wife, our family, and several others sang "When We All Get to Heaven" and "I'll Fly Away," as we rejoiced in our friend's homegoing. Together for quite some time we waited for the funeral director. 

While we waited, something beautiful happened. Outside the windows we suddenly noticed birds in the cedar trees. Robins!

A whole flock of robins had come to visit, landing in the cedar trees and eating the cedar berries. 

A whole flock of robins in January!

"It's like they came to rejoice with us!" I exclaimed to those gathered in the sun-splattered dining room. 

A while later, as the funeral director wheeled the gurney to the waiting car, those of us still there gathered again outside, wrapped in coats or jackets in the bright cold.

As the door to the vehicle closed behind the gurney, a single robin winged by overhead--like the freed spirit of a very tired body that had long been trapped in a bed of weakness.

Today two sparrows fell--

but a whole flock of robins sang!

When I am Afraid of Bangs

One day a few weeks ago, I got a surprise when I went into our bedroom. There lying on our bed was the DOG! She knows she is not allowed in there! What on earth! 

Well, as I stood there trying to figure out why the dog was on my bed, I remembered that my son had been out target practicing under the bridge. Needless to say, when someone is target practicing, there are lots of loud bangs, and our dog is afraid of loud bangs.

Now she did not need to be afraid of the loud bangs, but the dog did not know that. She just heard loud bangs and they scared her.

So she had gone running into the house, and there she was--on my nice, soft bed.  

Sometimes we hear bangs--you know, scary news or distressing things or people's threats and bluffs.

We don't know that we don't really need to be afraid.

The bang is loud

and scary

and there is no one to tell us what it really  means.

So like our dog Aspen, we need a place to run--a nice soft place as far away as possible from the bangs of life--to the refuge of Jesus' arms and near to the heart of God. 

When I am afraid of bangs, oh Lord, I will trust in Thee.

Cheese Butterflies and Hearts--and Christ Born to Be a Friend

One day this week, Pastor and Mrs. Ambrose and our girls tried to be a friend to a lady in the nursing home up the road. It was her birthday.

The Ambroses took cupcakes and Crystal and I made heart and butterfly, mitten and snowmen cutouts out of cheese to take with crackers.

This was fun to do!

And it all brought cheer to our dear friend whose life was messed up with sin, but she came to the Lord in her despair, and He saved her and she loves Him now.

A relative of the lady had thought to come along, too, but didn't make it. Just friends there, no relatives. A couple weeks ago, I received a late Christmas card in the mail.

 

Inside was this little message: "In all our trials, (He was) born to be our friend." These familiar words from "O Holy Night" became suddenly fresh and real--a different context but the same words. 

I wish I could whisper them to anyone reading this tonight who might need a friend in the midst of trial. 

"He was born to be your friend."

"In all their affliction He was afflicted, and the Angel of His presence saved them; in His love and in His pity He redeemed them; and He bore them and carried them all the days of old."

Isaiah 63:9

 

 

Dorcas Turns Plenty

Let's just say if you count the roses it won't give you a clue how old my sister is, but she just turned plenty!

She likes to say how when someone asked how old she was, she is always "Plenty-nine!" 

Somebody placed by the vase this photo of her and Ben when they were young and just married.

She was so happy!

One of Dorcas's daughters sewed and embroidered these potholders for her. I would hate to use those and muss them up!

I sent Dorcas this card--because it was about memories--

about when we were young and loved to swing. We had swings several places we lived, and we loved to swing on them.

It was fun chatting about pleasant memories.

First Lady Elegance--and Second Lady Beauty

All sorts of discussions have happened about the attire of the First Lady and Second Lady at the inauguration.

(I found this picture online.)

Personally, I thought the First Lady was elegant and the Second Lady incredibly beautiful in their dresses and hair updos. 

Don't ask me about my opinion about high heels though--because I can't imagine they are healthy or comfortable, but in the eyes of the world they are classy, and Mrs. Trump handles them super well! 

I can't even start to wear heels. Even one-inch heels make my neck hurt, and I turn my ankle.

But it was sort of fun watching Melania walk so perfectly gracefully in them. 

 

We watched these beautiful ladies step gracefully from one inauguration event to the other while my daughters and I prepared meals... 

and folded laundry.

No cosmeticians, nail technicians, or fashion designers needed for this work in a simple home in South Dakota.

I was saying something to Jonathan about it a couple evenings ago, wondering about all the hair stylists, cosmeticians, fashion designers, manicurists, (or in modern vernacular, nail tecnhicians) who were involved in preparing Melania and Usha for their day in front of the world. I thought how beautiful these ladies look--while I was only too painfully aware of my own hairless, ugly head and terrible-looking, ridged nails after chemo.

And he said tenderly to me, "You're beautiful!" and he stroked my hairless head as I clung to him.

And the First and Second Lady are welcome to all their fashion designers, cosmetics, and high heels, for I don't think they could have enjoyed such a blissful moment as the skinny little bald lady in a South Dakota home

on the prairie. 

Favorite Inaugural Moments

I don't remember watching almost an entire day of inauguration proceedings as I did Monday, January 20th, when President Trump took office and we could finally wave goodbye to the insanity of the last four years. 

I didn't get online till about 10:30 Central time, and Hannah and I watched (part of her American Civics class) off and on the rest of the day.

How refreshing to hear a President finally say something intelligent as well as intelligible. Can you imagine?

We finally have a president that you can understand what he is saying!

And he says things as profound as, "Under my administration there will only be two genders--male and female."

Oh my word!

This had to be one of my favorite moments--the Vances' little boy hanging his teddy bear over the rail in front of the whole crowd in Capital One Arena late in the afternoon after the inaugural luncheon, military review, and other speeches or ceremonies.

There it was, something as simple as an old fashioned teddy bear by the presidential insignia--bringing a touch of humanity and simplicity to the pomp and ceremony. 

Throughout the day, I wondered what God thought of everything. 

You know, all the pomp, the covering up of feelings and attitudes so that everyone would look good in the moment, the crowd, the speeches, the impossible promises, the glamor, the class and elegance--or lack thereof,

high heels, applause, military review--you name it. 

God had to be looking down and seeing what was going on. 

I wonder what He thought. 

Was the military review as big a joke to Him as I thought it was?  I wondered just how militarily ready our nation is to defend ourselves if God lifts His hand.

I rather believe God liked that moment of teddy bear childlikeness as much as anything--but I could be mistaken, because I can't see hearts.

I believe He also must have liked when President Trump--and isn't it wonderful to get to say that again!--sought to give Him honor in more than one time and way. Perhaps it was just lip-service. I don't know. But in the Bible we read again and again that God honored even heathen kings that acknowledged Him. 

But I digress.  

Another very touching moment was at the very beginning of the parades that marched through Capitol One Arena, when the Butler Fire Department marched in carrying the suit that Mr. Compertore left behind when he gave his life in place of Mr. Trump several months ago at the attempted assassination. 

We watched President Trump melt into a thousand pieces as he saluted--and remembered. 

We at the computer joined in the moment of silence like everyone else. 
I pray the family will take comfort in knowing God saw all that happened--and in knowing that Mr. Compertore was ready to meet His Judge and Savior. 

We watched the President and Vice President and their wives stand to wave at the outgoing President as he left in the helicopter.

How cold they must have been, and how those ladies' feet must have been "killing them," as I read that Melania Trump admitted later.  

At home in South Dakota, in between times, I donned my chore coat and hurried out into the cold myself to gather eggs and bring in firewood. I had made goat cheese earlier in the day, and I took the warm and watered-down whey in this big pan out to the goats--who slurp it down in one and half minutes flat. 

I had forgotten to take the egg basket, but rather than return through the bitter cold to the house for it, I put the eggs from the coop into the whey pan to take to the house.

The bitter cold air almost had me nauseated.

There definitely was not the pomp present in Washington, D. C. when Anna Lucas headed to the barn--and came back into the house to shiver and shake in front of the wood stove!  

Still, a country family couldn't help enjoying some of the pomp and parade--and celebrating a President who is freeing about 1500 American hostages--held captive in their own country ever since January Six--including hundreds who were imprisoned months and years later after fresh roundups of anyone near the Capitol on that infamous date, even innocent people who were simply in the vicinity of a place that has always been open to the public,

and one or more who have been imprisoned for Pro-Life activities. 

We cheered when he signed documents getting us out of the W H O and out of the Paris Climate Agreement. 

And we watched in delight as he tossed pens with which he had signed executive orders out to the people watching in the Arena.

No hiding behind closed doors

No refusal to take on reporters in person.

It's in the open.

And those were some of my favorite moments.

The Bridge I Thought Would Never Happen

 I didn't think this bridge would ever happen--at least not for probably at least a couple years--the bridge across the draw between our house and the barn.

But when the boys (I still call my grown sons boys) were here at Christmas time, one day they decided to start the bridge.

They laid out the steel beams Jonathan had picked up one day from some sort of scrap metal place for a little bit of nothing back in Colorado before we moved. These beams had come up I think in our very first load of materials and trusses from Colorado. 

It took two  of those 30-ft beams to stretch across the draw, with support posts in the middle.

I went out once to take pictures, but then I just had to leave, because the project was giving me heebie-jeebies.

Building bridges is not for the faint of heart.

It takes work, skill, patience, and persistence.

And courage. 

It's also not just for humans. Goats were quite sure they would use the bridge, too. And yes, they do. 

As the day progressed, the guys not only laid the beams but screwed between the beams the planks Tim had sawed on his mill and brought up. We had others we'd stacked and saved, but there weren't quite enough to go across the whole way.  

At the one end, we just have a couple long planks to finish the bridge until Tim can bring us some more lumber or we find some plank lumber somewhere else.

 A bridge doesn't have to be perfect to work. 

This bridge has made all the difference with making the barn more reachable from the house--especially in snowy or icy weather. I was constantly nervous about traversing the steep banks between house and barn, but now I can head across a level bridge and reach the chicken coop to gather eggs without slipping and falling up or down the bank.

I think of other bridges desperately needing to be built--bridges between relationships separated by steep banks.

Long beams of love and humility are needed,

and then one plank after another of kindness, forgiveness, and understanding.

One humble plank after another across the beams.

Because a bridge doesn't have to be perfect to reach the other side.